I parked my bike on the street outside the Waterfront Playhouse and hurried back through the alley to Mallory Square, a little spooked by the darkness. As I’d expected, Tony and his buddies were hanging out on the same corner where I’d seen them a night earlier, talking loudly. A pile of empty beer cans and cigarette butts littered the ground at their feet.
“Hayley!” Tony called out as soon as he saw me. “Hope you’re all right. That was some scary crap yesterday.”
“Yes, yes, it was. Thanks for helping out.”
“I couldn’t stick around.” He shrugged an apology. “I stayed until the cops got here.”
“Watch out for five-oh!” another of the men razzed him.
Tony elbowed him in the ribs.
“I understand,” I said. “I was wondering, did you guys happen to hear a gunshot last night before my friend went into the water?”
“I knew that’s what them cops were lookin’ for,” said one of Tony’s pals. “That’s why we took off. Once they mistake us for a shooter, we’re goin’ to jail and never getting out.”
“I’m playing your sad story on my violin,” said the first man, making a sawing motion with his hand. He turned back to me. “We heard firecrackers all night. That’s considered big fun for those idiot college kids—drink too much beer and then wake up the whole island.”
“We definitely heard fireworks,” Tony agreed. “We heard that whistling noise. Wouldn’t a gunshot be flatter?” For a few minutes they argued about the difference in the two sounds, but came to no conclusions.
“You didn’t happen to notice anyone running away after Toby dove in?”
“Just us chickens,” the first man said, and laughed.
“It was quiet here,” said Tony. “Course, we were minding our business, shooting the shit. Not looking for trouble.” He rubbed the stubble on his chin. “We didn’t have a good view out that way.” He pointed toward the Westin, toward the bridge in front of the aquarium that Toby and I had crossed last night.
As I left the men, I glanced across the square. Lorenzo was at his table again. A thin woman was just getting up from the chair facing him. She shook his hand and walked away, sniffling into a tissue. I wondered what news he’d given her. Since no one was waiting to take her place, I hurried over and slid into the seat.
“Just wanted to say hi,” I told him.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” he said, “holding you in the light. No bad effects from your dip last night?”
“We’re both okay,” I said. “Toby a little more shaken than me. You were right about speaking up and cutting things loose.” I pulled my hair back into a loose ponytail and then let it go. “My detective friend’s wife showed up in town.”
“I’m sorry. But it’s hard to argue with the cards.” He placed his hand over mine and squeezed. “What are you doing here this late?”
“I wondered whether Tony and his friends had seen anything unusual last night. Besides Toby in the water, I mean.”
His forehead wrinkled in concentration. “I did see her on the square earlier. Chatting with another woman. That doesn’t help much, does it?”
“Not really. Not like if you’d read her cards and there was a secret in them you could share with me.”
He laughed. “Can’t help with that. And couldn’t share anyway—wouldn’t be ethical.”
* * *
I was exhausted by the time I fell into my berth on the houseboat. But not tired enough to keep the image of Bransford’s wife out of my mind. To keep from wondering why she’d come to Key West. I’d checked the answering machine just in case he might have left word. Though why would he call home when other times we connected we’d talked on my cell? Even so, I checked the pad attached to the refrigerator with a magnet where Miss Gloria left me important messages.
“Sleep tight!” was all she’d written.
When pigs fly, I thought grimly.
I went back to bed, listening for hours to the clank of ropes and winches against the mast of our neighbor’s boat, two slots up the finger. And wondering just how different it might have sounded with a body tangled up in the rigging.
14
A crust eaten in peace is better than a banquet partaken in anxiety.
—Aesop
I woke up late and logy. I went straight to the galley, looking for a decent breakfast—do not pass Go, do not pass Anything Edible. Unfortunately, our cupboard space was jammed with three boxes of dietetic, cardboard-tasting cereal that I’d bought earlier this week when I was thinking Diet with a capital D. Not acceptable in my current frame of mind. Miss Gloria’s leftover bran muffins from the local Publix supermarket had been moldering in a plastic container on the counter all week—I ruled them out, too.